Page 69 of A Better Man

“Drop the gun,” commanded Beauvoir.

“Gun?” came the tinny voice. “Hello?”

“Get off my goddamned land,” yelled Tracey. The rifle still raised.

Billy had stopped digging. Armand turned to him and shouted, “Whatever happens, keep digging.”

“Yurz.”

The machine began again, and Tracey stepped forward, slipping slightly on the snow and mud.

The danger, Gamache could now see, wasn’t just that he’d fire the rifle on purpose but that he’d slip and it would go off accidentally.

“I said stop,” yelled Tracey.

“And I said drop the gun,” said Beauvoir, stepping directly in front of Armand. Directly in front of the gun.

“Oh, my God,” shouted Armand, and waved toward the river.

Reine-Marie, alarmed, turned.

As did Tracey.

The only one who didn’t was Beauvoir, who was expecting Gamache to do something like this. Divert, just for a moment, Tracey’s attention.

Jean-Guy’s hand shot out and wrenched the rifle from his grip.

When Tracey lunged for it, Beauvoir pivoted and knocked him to the ground.

Gamache bent down and lifted the drunken man to his feet.

“We’re diverting the river,” he explained. “To stop the—”

“You have no right. This’s private land,” Tracey shouted. With a yank, he twisted away from Gamache and ran toward the backhoe, waving and shouting, “Arrêt! Arrêt! Stop.”

But, of course, Billy did not.

He hadn’t seen that Beauvoir had disarmed him. As far as Billy knew, a man with a rifle was running toward him. And might very well shoot.

But Billy didn’t care. Myrna was down there. The bags were shifting. And only he could stop it.

He pushed the shovel in deeper and dragged it forward into the field just as Gamache caught up with Tracey and, grabbing him around the waist, hauled the man around and away.

With a gush, the Bella Bella began pouring into the field.

“Hello?” came a tinny voice.

There was no deluding herself any longer.

The wall was coming down.

It was time to leave, Clara knew. Not just the bridge but her home. The village. Time to abandon Three Pines to fate.

Myrna and Clara quickly made their way off the bridge, half walking, half running.

The last of the villagers had to get out of Clara’s home, out of Three Pines, and up to the church.

From there they would witness the destruction.